


The End is the Crown

by Velociraptor_Hands



Category: British Actor RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, M/M, MI5 - Freeform, Power Dynamics, Russian Mafia, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velociraptor_Hands/pseuds/Velociraptor_Hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tomorrow night he had a date with a sociopath; a criminal, Russian sociopath who was known for clawing out the eyes of his enemies.  It was easy to dismiss those reports as rubbish when sat in front of the man in question.  Chris didn’t seem unbalanced, just arrogant and too handsome for his own good.  Back on familiar territory with Ben, the harsh light of reality told Tom otherwise.  He needed all his wits about him if he was to come out of this unscathed and still employed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://clarysrunes.tumblr.com/post/33245054444/chris-hemsworth-covers-prestige-october-2012) photo shoot of Chris and the shameless enabling of many of you.

It was with no little sense of remorse that Tom realized he was in over his head.  

  
  
MI5 had brought him out from behind his cozy cubicle as a Language Specialist to assist with a contact they were massaging in Terrorism.   _Massaging is definitely the right word for it_ , he had thought a bit ungraciously when his new assignment had been explained to him.  Tom had studied languages with a focus on Slavic studies at Cambridge in order to become a translator, not a glorified babysitter/attendant to a massive blond bear of a Russian Mafioso.   The man was even known as _Medved_ , and one could be forgiven for thinking him an overly muscled teddy bear upon first sight.  With his decidedly English name of Chris Hemsworth and his wide, easy smile, the man sitting opposite Tom did not seem like one of the most dangerous men in London, however much his file told differently.

  
  
Tom really shouldn’t have been there at all, he was not a field agent by any means.  However an agent outside of the Russian Intelligence squad had stumbled upon Chris first and would not give up his rights to this potential gold mine of information.  Ben Cumberbatch worked in Terrorism and finding a source like Chris was a rarity, making him unwilling to pass it along to an agent from a more relevant department.  Ben and his group had argued successfully that Chris might have information relating to recent domestic terrorist threats by Chechen rebels as well as the public poisoning of a former KGB agent right here in London.  MI5’s Russian Intelligence Specialists had conceded but on three conditions:  a translator of their selection accompany Ben on all meetings; Scarlett Johansson be brought in as a consult; and should Ben’s cultivation of Chris as a source not bear fruit for more than two months then Chris would fall under their purview, not Terrorism’s.

  
  
Ben’s group had reluctantly agreed but still haggled them down to a translator not from Russian Intelligence but from the general pool of Language Specialists, and thus Tom found himself with a new assignment.  Tom spoke several languages and had of late been roped in with Terrorism in MI5 due to his skill with Arabic, but he had also worked with Scarlett in Russian Intelligence on some rather obscure texts uncovered in a smuggling raid last year.  He was the perfect compromise in that both sides thought him aligned with them.  But Tom was neither stupid nor willing to be a chess piece in an interdepartmental war; he had decided from the get-go to remain as impartial as possible.  Though he would love to be permanently assigned to either department, he did not want to burn any bridges.  And so he sat next to Ben for a series of increasingly frustrating meetings with Chris that left him feeling useless and uncomfortable.  He was, however, never bored.

  
  
Chris had a sarcastic wit and no discernible trace of a Russian accent.  Instead he spoke fluent English with an Australian accent thanks to a childhood mostly spent in his father’s home country.  He was charming, quite funny, and obviously in contempt of Ben and all of Her Majesty’s Government.  More interestingly though, Chris had come to them of his own free will; he had approached Ben in a restaurant bathroom completely out of the blue and offered his services in return for immunity and protection.  Yet all their intel on the man indicated he had no need for protection of any kind and was fiercely loyal to his organization.  No one had yet figured out how he knew who and what Ben was and Chris would not reveal that information.  He was quite the mystery.

  
  
Tom found himself relaxing in the younger man’s company during their first encounters.  Chris had not been pleased with Tom’s presence at first, but began trading jokes with him in Russian between questions from Ben as soon as Tom had demonstrated his proficiency with the language.  Ever the more observant one, Ben flexed his muscle as Tom’s superior and forbid him from engaging Chris directly unless ordered.  Tom quickly realized this was not so much an expression of displeasure on Ben’s part, but rather a way to entice Chris to stop his maddening game and give them something concrete to work with.  Tom was just one of the many carrots Ben was using in place of a stick.

  
  
At first Chris’s carefree façade faltered when Tom would not speak or look at him. He tried cajoling Tom, teasing him into a reply, but to no avail; Tom was not about to disobey a direct order no matter how much he had enjoyed bantering with Chris.  Tom found another reason to dislike Ben’s strategy: he had to translate anything Chris said in Russian.  Anything.  He also had to translate anything Chris requested from English to Russian.  

  
  
Chris showed he could play chess just as well as Ben, and that he quite enjoyed Tom in the role of pawn.  He began asking for anything Ben said that was longer than a few sentences to be reworked into Russian, and he would make most of his reply in Russian as well.  Tom, who had been a bit rusty with the language, soon regained his fluency and then some.  Chris had a remarkable talent for vulgarities and slang and he used it to his advantage.  Tom would stutter over a few in particular which Chris seized on and used over and over again, just to make Tom blush.

  
  
It began with insults and slurs towards Ben and MI5, and progressed to something more personal with Tom.   Chris seemed to be picking at his defenses until he found a weakness to exploit.  The first instance had taken Tom completely aback.

  
  
“ _You are quite beautiful, you know, for a man, Foma_.”  Chris called Tom by his Russian name and his eyes glittered with mischief.  Tom ceased his streaming into English of Chris’s words and for the first time in a week looked him in the eye.  He then broke protocol and replied to Chris directly, “ _And you are wasting your time and ours_.”  Chris just smiled and leaned forward to fix Tom with his intense blue eyes, “ _I would love to fuck you over this table in front of your boss here, but I think he might enjoy watching us together too much and I would have you all to myself_.”

  
  
Tom was too stunned by this turn of events to respond.  He had been in denial about his attraction to Chris, hell he was in denial about his attraction to men in general, but now all those unwanted feelings burst through the dam he had built in his mind,  flooded out by the image Chris painted.  Tom could see himself held down against the café’s table by one of Chris’s impossibly large forearms while the man’s other hand palmed him through his trousers.  Before he could get further, Ben roused him from his fantasy with an elbow to the arm, “I thought I told you not to talk with him. Now tell me what you both said.”  

  
  
Tom hesitated and Chris pounced, “ _You are such a pretty boy, Foma, but so skinny.  I would be afraid I’d break you, but I think you would like it if I did.  You could struggle against me all you want and pretend you aren’t dying for me to open you up and fuck you.  I know boys like you, you want to be corrupted but don’t want to be responsible for your own defilement.  I would be happy to help you in your own shameful little deception_.”

  
  
Chris smiled wickedly and Tom let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.  His ears and cheeks heated up and Tom knew he looked ridiculous sitting there red-faced and mouth agape, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Chris.  It was obvious this was just part of Chris’s mind games with them, but to hear him speak out loud what Tom hadn’t the courage to even whisper to himself was rattling to say the least.  Tom licked his lips then stopped as he noticed Chris’s eyes following the action.

  
Ben was practically quivering with frustration next to him, “What did he say?  What is the matter with you?”  

  
  
Tom looked at him helplessly then down to his fidgeting hands.  “I…He is just trying to upset me.  It’s nothing important.”   

  
  
“That is not for you to decide.  We’ve been over this.”  Ben gave him a hard look.  Tom sighed and opened his mouth to answer but was again cut off by Chris.

  
“I insulted his intelligence, called him a good little dog who waits at his master’s beck and call.  Is he a good pet for you?  He seems very loyal.”  Chris spoke to Ben but kept his eyes on Tom, watching for every minute reaction.  Tom attempted to keep his face blank, but couldn’t hide his initial surprise that Chris would intervene, and in English too.

  
  
Ben looked from Tom to Chris then back again and raised his eyebrows, “Is that all?  You need to thicken your skin a bit if you let that get to you, Tom.”  He ignored Tom’s glare and addressed Chris with barely suppressed ire, “So glad to hear you remembered how to speak English, Mr. Hemsworth.  Perhaps we could make some progress this afternoon?  Please continue with what you know about Pyotr Aleksandrov.  And refrain from goading Tom, if you would.  Now, I believe you were about to gift us with some news as to Aleksandrov’s lorry business?”

  
  
Chris shrugged but his grin was smug as he leaned back in his chair.  “Yes, Petya has expanded his operations recently from local vendors to international.  He has a contact in Poland, another Piotr, who has a food processing plant.”  Chris flicked his eyes to Tom then focused again on Ben, switching to Russian smoothly, “ _I did you a favor, Foma.  Are you going to repay me?  Tell Ben that Piotr also runs a drug lab in one of his factories on the outskirts of Warsaw.  Petya hides the pills in the body cavities of frozen chickens_.”

  
  
Ben rolled his eyes, “Back to this nonsense again?  Fine.  Go on then, Tom, and make yourself useful.”  Tom obeyed and rattled back everything Chris had said minus his private message.  Ben peppered Chris with questions regarding the drug operation while Tom only half-listened.  He struggled with himself over whether or not to respond to Chris when it was time for him to translate Ben’s words.  He was loyal, Chris wasn’t wrong, but the other man was so intriguing that Tom found himself already crafting a reply.  

  
  
Ben finished and Tom relayed all of his questions then took a deep breath, “ _I don’t need your help, so I owe you nothing.  I know you only said those things to mock me.  What could I possibly offer you that the British government cannot? I will not hide our conversation again_.”

  
  
Chris answered a few of Ben’s queries, then leaned forward again and tapped one large finger against his temple, “ _I knew you were clever.  I want to help your government and protect myself, but I don’t trust Ben.  He doesn’t even speak Russian, how could he understand me?  Meet me alone in the bar of the Hotel St. Vincent tomorrow night at 9pm.  I will answer your questions then_.”

  
  
As calmly as he could, Tom gave Ben the English translation while studying Chris’s face for any sign of deception or ill intent.  He should not take up his offer, especially not by himself; Tom did not have the training for that kind of work, and Chris was far from safe.  Perhaps that was why he felt his stomach tighten at the thought of being alone with him, the danger of it.  It was not an unpleasant sensation.

  
  
He caught himself tapping his fingers against the table while waiting for Ben to stop talking.  Once he had translated Ben’s final questions, it was time for his own. “ _You are asking me to risk my job and possibly my life for an unknown return.  How do I know you’ll keep your word and give me anything useful?  You haven’t exactly been forthcoming here_.”

  
  
“ _You have no idea what I can give you, Foma.  I know exactly what you want me to give you, but I don’t think that is what you need.  Forget about your questions then, come tomorrow just for me.  Have a drink with me, nothing more, and I will tell you all about Petya and Piotr and his chickens_.”

  
Tom tamped down on his elation at the idea of being the one to bring in that kind of information.  He would be in trouble for disobeying orders and meeting the contact without supervision, but if the intel he brought back was good enough it wouldn’t really matter.  And spending more time with Chris without Ben around was certainly appealing.  Tom tried to convince himself that it was only because Chris was a puzzle he wanted to solve and nothing more.  And really, what was a drink or two in the scheme of things?  Chris had asked for nothing in return other than Tom’s company, what harm could there be in obliging him?  Tom did his best to ignore the scream coming from his common sense, and spoke quickly before Ben could interrupt.

  
  
“ _I will be there. I am going to tell you the name of my university, Cambridge, so I have a plausible explanation as to why I spoke with you directly again_.”  It took a bit more effort than he would like to admit to tear his gaze away from Chris, but Tom pasted an apologetic look upon his face before speaking to Ben, “Sorry, he was just asking where I learned Russian and I didn’t see anything wrong in answering him.  I won’t do it again.”

  
  
“I thought I heard you say Cambridge amongst all that guttural noise you were making.” Ben sighed in exasperation then looked at his watch and stood up.  “Make our goodbyes, you can tell me what he said in the car.  I doubt it was anything helpful and I’ve had enough of this for today.”

  
  
Tom nodded and turned again to Chris, “ _Call the number we gave you again when you are ready for another meeting.  I will…I will see you tomorrow_.”  He rose to follow Ben, but was stopped by Chris’s hand at his shoulder.  The other man’s eyes were so close and such a jeweled blue that Tom had to remind himself to breathe.  

  
“ _I look forward to having you all to myself_.” Chris squeezed hard and Tom wanted to lean into that powerful grip.  “ _Now be a good dog and heel to your master_.”  He pushed Tom forward with enough force that he stumbled a bit.  Tom scowled back at him and straightened his jacket and hair before joining Ben at the café’s door.  Chris sauntered after them, and patted Ben’s arm in mock camaraderie, “See you later, Ben.  Be sure to take good care of your little pet in the meantime.”

  
  
They watched in silence as Chris melded into the crowded street.  Ben sighed and rubbed his face, “I really hate that man.”  Tom couldn’t stop a bark of nervous laughter and Ben smiled at him ruefully.  “I don’t ever expect to like my sources, but it does help.  Talking with him though, is like pulling teeth from the Cheshire Cat.  You know he has them, you can even see them most of the time, but they disappear the moment you reach out.”  He sighed again, “I just wish I had a better idea of what kind of game he’s playing. Especially with you.”  Tom’s grin dropped and his head snapped up to find Ben giving him a measuring look.

  
  
“What do you mean with me?”

  
  
“Don’t play coy, Tom, I’m not an idiot.  He’s saying more than you’re translating.” Ben held up a hand to silence Tom before he could protest. “No, no, it’s fine.  For now.  Just don’t be taken in by him.  And don’t get overconfident.  If we can use you to get information from him I’m all for it.”  He leaned in aggressively and shook Tom by his shoulder.  “But don’t ever lie to me, Tom.  I want to know everything he said, and I do mean everything.”

  
  
Now would have been the perfect moment to confess all to Ben, about Chris’s vulgar flirtation, about the secret meeting, about the whole thing.  Tom could see himself doing it, could imagine the weight lifting from his shoulders that Chris had placed upon them.  Instead he went with a half-truth.

  
  
“He was…saying inappropriate things.  I don’t think he meant them, but he was getting fairly graphic.  He just wants to get under my skin, I’m fine.”

  
  
Ben nodded impatiently, “I already gathered that.  What did he actually say to you?”

  
  
Tom squirmed away from his hold, “Do you really need details or just the general idea?”

  
  
“The general idea should be fine.  But you understand why I need to know?”

  
  
Tom shuffled his feet and looked away, unable to meet Ben’s eyes for this, “Yes.  He said I was…He said he wanted to fuck me, okay? Twice.  He said it and described it twice.”  Tom was angry now, with himself, with Chris, but at the moment he was the angriest with Ben for making him say this out loud.  He frowned at him, daring Ben to push further.

  
  
Ben’s face softened and Tom wanted to hit him for the amusement he saw there.  “And what did you say to him in return?”

  
  
Tom exploded, “What the fuck do you think I said?  ‘Yes, please?’  I told him to stuff it the first time and then I ignored him the second time.”

  
  
“Calm down.  Did he really ask you where you learnt Russian?”

  
“Yes.  Just like I told you earlier.” Tom huffed and then moved away when Ben tried to pat his back in apology.

  
  
“Okay, Tom.  It’s okay.  Thank you for telling me.  I do need to know these things or I wouldn’t ask.  I’m not trying to deliberately embarrass you.”

  
  
“Well, you’re doing a fine job of it by accident.”  Tom sighed, then smiled at him in contrition, “Sorry, I guess he did get to me a bit.”

  
  
“Like I said, it’s okay.  From everything we know Chris is a sociopath which means he is a master at manipulation.  Never take anything he says at face value.  There was a reason he said those things to you, don’t take it personally.”  Ben reached again to pat his back and Tom let him.  “Now let’s get back so we can debrief and get the hell home.”

  
  
Tom nodded and fell in step with Ben as they walked to the car.  He kept his face bright and smiling as Ben joked with him on the drive to HQ, but inside he was quaking with trepidation.  Tomorrow night he had a date with a sociopath; a criminal, Russian sociopath who was known for clawing out the eyes of his enemies.  It was easy to dismiss those reports as rubbish when sat in front of the man in question.  Chris didn’t seem unbalanced, just arrogant and too handsome for his own good.  Back on familiar territory with Ben, the harsh light of reality told Tom otherwise.  He needed all his wits about him if he was to come out of this unscathed and still employed.  

  
  
He thought briefly about standing Chris up, but that seemed a foolish thing to do to a man well used to getting his way.  No, he would have to go through with it.  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.  Maybe Chris really did just want to talk in exchange for his company.  Tom didn’t think this was true, but he wanted to believe it and so he did.  They would have drinks, Chris would give up some information and that would be it.  There would be no flirting and especially no touching.  Tom was of a firm mind about the last part.  He wasn’t sure he could resist Chris if he felt one of those large, strong hands on him again.

  
  
 _Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tom learns the price of doing business with Chris.

The Hotel St. Vincent was actually a private men’s club located in a part of town that had seen better days.  Like any proper agent, Tom had scouted his meeting place ahead of time although his method was far from regulation.  He had taken the tube on his lunch break and merely walked past the entrance, not daring to venture closer than the pavement out front.  From the outside the Edwardian edifice did not inspire thoughts of luxury or wealth; the paint was peeling on the heavy black door, the lower windows were bricked in, and the brass name plaque needed polishing or, even better, replacing.  All in all, it felt run down and abandoned.  

 

  
Tom would have dismissed it as a bit of dive were it not for the heavy security system in place as evidenced by the numerous cameras, more so than normal for London anyway.  He had made a quick pass around the exterior, but decided not to check out the mews behind the building as a van with workman was busy loading or unloading crates of something for the hotel.  Tom now felt slightly more in control of the situation, although he knew that was mostly an illusion.

 

  
Now there was the question of his wardrobe to be decided.  The hotel’s façade did not scream formal dress or even clubwear, but Tom also didn’t feel jeans and t-shirt would be appropriate.  He laid out his options on the bed then had a shower to mull them over, as well as work out some tension.  He hadn’t realized how wound-up he actually was until his hand and shoulder were pressed against the slick tile of his shower while his other hand furiously pumped away at his cock.  All that it took to finally find release was the thought of one of Chris’s hands kneading his neck in the same possessive grip as he had done at the café while listening to that honey-over-gravel voice recount in Russian exactly what he wanted from his _Foma_.  Tom shuddered through his orgasm with both arousal and shame.

 

  
Tom had always been attracted to men, but only a specific type of man.  Large, burly, strong men who could take what they liked from him even if he fought back or protested.  This did not sit well with Tom’s self-image.  He was not weak or small, he had been raised to be highly independent, and he did not want anyone but himself in control of his life.  And yet, at times he would find himself fantasizing about a man that had caught his eye and wondering how it would feel to just let go.  

 

  
He remembered in particular a fellow rugby player at Cambridge, Jason, who had towered over Tom like few men could.  Jason had been a fun, friendly enough man, and seemed to enjoy manhandling his teammates after he’d had a few pints.  For this reason alone Tom had forced himself to be social beyond his preference and attended every bash-up the team threw.  Jason would crush an arm around Tom’s much narrower shoulders and drag him about like his favorite stuffed toy as they visited each table of drunken players.  Every few minutes Tom would pull against him just to feel those massive biceps flex and mash him back against Jason’s wonderfully broad body.  “Not going anywhere, are you mate?” Jason would wink down at him.  Tom had imagined him saying that in numerous sexual contexts for years afterwards.

 

  
Despite his longings, Tom had never let himself act on any of his attractions to men.  He was only interested in men who brought out his submissive tendencies and that was something he did his best to avoid.  He hated feeling this way, hated himself for this perceived weakness.  He liked women, found pleasure in sex with them, but nothing like the overwhelming need generated by the idea of another man taking control of him and fucking him until he couldn’t walk.  It was disconcerting and frustrating how his body and desires sabotaged his efforts to be the sort of man he thought he should be, the sort of man his father wanted him to be.

 

  
Now he stood ready to volunteer for another encounter with a man dangerous to his life and career, as well as his emotional state.  Not only that, but he had willingly forgone the safeguards most rational people would have in place.  The only concession to safety Tom planned was to leave a note on his kitchen counter detailing where he had gone, when, and with whom he was meeting.  Should anything happen to him at least Chris would not get off scot free, or so Tom hoped.

 

  
The shower had cleared his head enough to decide upon an outfit: black trousers, white shirt, shiny black tie, and a black cardigan with a wide collar.  He dressed and then slicked his hair back from his face in waves of reddish gold, the gel and the length of the cut the only thing preventing it from curling up into a fluffy blond halo.  Tom slapped on some cologne then grabbed his scarf and leather jacket and headed out to meet his fate.  He would look back on this moment and wonder at his naïve eagerness.

 

  
****

 

  
After running a surprising gauntlet of security (two bouncers - one at the entrance and one at the door to the bar - had asked for his ID and run it against something on their tablets), Tom arrived at the bar of the Hotel St. Vincent at exactly 8:52pm.  The room had exposed brick walls and was finely decorated in golds, blues, and greens, with parquet floors, and Persian rugs.  There was no actual bar that Tom could see, only clusters of leather chairs around low coffee tables and a piano in the center near the massive fireplace.  

 

  
There were at least twenty other men of various ages and races seated in those chairs, all of them dressed in suits so well-made that Tom would bet they cost more than his monthly salary if not beyond.  This was a room far out of his league or experience and he felt acutely aware of how out of place he looked in his leather jacket and trousers.   Slightly embarrassed, he stuck his hands in his pockets and began scanning the room for Chris.

 

  
 _Of course he’s not here_ , Tom thought, _I bet he’s never been on time in his life_. Chris had seemed to delight in making Ben wait for him, he was usually at least 15 minutes late to their meetings.  It was just another way for him to assert his dominance of the situation.  Only once had Ben and Tom been late, by about 10 minutes, and Chris had still turned up after them.  Tom suspected Chris actually arrived much earlier than they did and watched them before making his presence known.  He shook his head and headed towards a set of chairs in the far corner of the room.

 

  
Tom unwound his scarf and unzipped his jacket as he sat down.  A waiter appeared to offer him a glass of water, but refused to take his request for a vodka and tonic, “Only your patron can order alcohol, I’m afraid.”

 

  
“My patron?”

 

  
“Yes, the member who invited you here. They all have tabs with the hotel as we don’t accept cash on the premises.”

 

  
“Well it’s not as though I don’t have a credit card, if cash is the issue.” Tom began digging in his jacket for his wallet.

 

  
The waiter frowned down at him, “That is not the issue.  You are not a member, therefore you cannot order anything.  I’m sorry, but those are-"

 

  
“The rules.  And we must obey the rules, right Tom?”  Chris patted the shoulder of the waiter in apology for his interruption.  Tom couldn’t believe he had let himself be distracted enough to not notice Chris’s approach.  Looking at him now, it was impossible to think anyone could miss his entrance.  Chris was clad in a silver grey double-breasted suit, the jacket open to reveal his deep blue dress shirt was unfastened to the third button, enough that a few dark gold hairs peeked out.   His long blond hair, normally either hidden in a cap or left loose, was slicked back into a tight bun at the nape of his neck.  

 

  
Tom swallowed and recovered himself before daring to speak, “Then would you please ask him to bring me a vodka and tonic with a twist of lime? I don’t see why this has to be so difficult.”

 

  
Chris smiled but it was more calculating than amused, “It only seems difficult because you don’t understand the rules.  You are my guest here, please behave like one.”

 

  
Tom noted the waiter hadn’t left yet and realized it would take Chris speaking the words for him to get anything.  He crossed his arms in annoyance but nodded his head to indicate he understood.  Chris’s smile warmed and he moved the other chair closer to Tom’s then took a seat.  “Bring me two glasses with ice and a bottle of my scotch.”  The waiter gave a short bow and scurried away.

 

  
“I wanted vodka, not scotch.  I would think you of all people would understand the difference between the two.  Also, if I’m to act as your guest, you should play the gracious host.  I’m not feeling very welcome at the moment.”

 

  
Chris’s eyes hardened briefly but his ever present smile never wavered, “Ah, but a good host should not lose himself to the whims of his guest.  And I heard your request perfectly well, but I feel vodka is better used to close the evening than begin it, yes?”

 

  
“This is not a date,” Tom hissed at him.  “I am not planning to ‘close the evening’ with you.  I just want what you promised me.  And a vodka tonic with lime.”

 

  
“Is that all you want, Tom?  You act as though this entire situation is of your own engineering.  You are here in _my_ club at _my_ invitation to hear what _I_ have to say.  I suggest you shut up and at least pretend to enjoy my company unless you’d like me to rescind that invitation.”  Aside from a few inflections, Chris’s voice remained placid.  But for just a second his face had dropped all pretenses at pleasantness and Tom caught a glimpse behind his mask at the beast that dwelled within. There was a reason Chris was known as _Medved_ , the Bear.

 

  
Tom had been called in to interpret for criminals before, some desperate, some remorseful, some frightened, some defiant; it was the calm ones he had learned to be the most wary of.  Usually beneath the ice was a lake of fire that would consume all should it burst through.  Sociopath is what Ben had said of Chris, but Tom thought psychopath the better description.  There was a capacity for unrepentant violence he had seen in that brief crack in Chris’s composure, a predator peeking out, and god knows MI5’s file on Chris would back that assessment up.

 

  
Chris’s lips twitched into a smirk and Tom realized he had seen only what Chris wanted him to see.  So it had been deliberate then, meant to scare him.  It had worked but Tom decided to play up his fear and possibly use it to his advantage.  He cleared his throat and gave in to the urge to avert his eyes, “I’m sorry, but you must understand what a delicate position I’m in.  I could be fired or arrested or worse just for being here.  I only agreed to this meeting because you said you wanted to help us.”

 

  
Chris sighed, “No need to overact, Tom.  You also aren’t a very good liar.  Tell me information is the only reason you are here, make me believe it.”

 

  
“What other reason is there?  Why do you think I’m here?” Tom countered.

 

  
Chris settled back in his chair and the smirk faded as he regarded Tom, “Because of what I can give you.  And what you want to give me.”

 

  
Tom’s forehead furrowed, “What I want to give you? I don’t _want_ to give you anything.”

 

  
“You are lying again; that is not what I saw at our last meeting.  And do you really expect me to share information with you for nothing in return?  Do I seem like a man who does something for nothing?”

 

  
“No, but I have no idea what you want.  You came to us, asking for protection in exchange for info, and that is all I know.  Before we go further, though, you should be aware that I’m not authorized to make any deals on behalf of my employer.”

 

  
“Really, Thomas,” Chris shook his head in mock rebuke.  “You think I don’t know that already?”

 

  
Tom gritted his teeth, “Then why am I here?  What good could talking to me bring you?”

 

  
The waiter returned with a tray bearing a bottle and two glasses with ice and addressed Chris, “Would you prefer one or two fingers, sir?”  Chris held up two fingers in reply.  The waiter turned to Tom, “And for sir’s guest?”

 

  
“Two fingers, please.”  Tom cast an irritated glance from the waiter to Chris, “If that’s permitted by my patron.”

 

  
Chris raised his eyebrows in amusement, “Of course.”  He grinned sharply as the waiter began to pour and then switched to Russian, “ _Though I think it might take more than two fingers to loosen you up, Foma.  I might even need four for someone as tight as you seem to be_.”

 

  
Tom had wondered when and if the innuendo would start tonight.  Despite having expected it, he still felt a flush wash up his face.  Chris’s grin widened and he handed Tom his glass, letting their fingers brush as he let go.  It was as though the man were crackling with static electricity, little sparks running from his fingertips up Tom’s arm, fizzing in his brain before he had even had a sip of alcohol.  Tom took a larger mouthful of scotch than was cautious to cool off and stall for time before he responded.

 

  
“ _You seem very certain. Had a lot of experience in loosening people up?  A willing partner might make that easier_.”

 

  
Chris’s laugh was short, “ _And you seem like you’ve had no experience, Foma.  Have you ever even been with a man before?  Ever given in to what you so obviously want and need?_ "

 

  
“ _Why on earth would I discuss that with you?  You’ve no right to ask that._ ”  Tom’s ire took hold at the certainty in Chris’s voice and he slammed his glass down on the table hard enough that the waiter winced and looked to Chris in a silent plea for dismissal.  Chris waved him away with a hand but was focused on Tom.  

 

  
“ _Do you want my information or not Foma?  Now would be the time to cooperate._ ”

 

  
Tom puffed out his cheeks in disbelief, “Are you really making my answering that a contingency?  Seriously?  I don’t…Why are you doing this?  Do you-do you even have anything for me or is this just another game?”  He slammed his head back against his chair and groaned, “Jesus, this has just been a giant fucking waste of my time, hasn’t it?”  

 

  
Chris’s face was blank at Tom’s outburst.   He took a slow sip of his scotch and then carefully placed the glass on the table before leaning forward towards Tom.  “Can you read Polish?”

 

  
Tom blinked at the non sequitur then rolled his eyes, “Of course I can.”

 

  
Chris gave a grunt of disapproval at Tom’s flippant tone, “Then I think you would be interested in some documents I have upstairs.  Would you like to take a look?”  He clucked his tongue impatiently at Tom’s hesitation, “They concern a factory my friend owns?”

 

  
“Oh.  Oh! Yes, I would…but couldn’t you bring them here?  I haven’t finished my drink.”  Tom held up his half-empty glass as though it were the sole reason for his reluctance to follow Chris out of the relative safety of the bar.  

 

  
“Bring it with you.  I’ll have the rest of the bottle sent up if you like.  Unless you’d rather I have that vodka tonic sent instead?  With lime?”  Chris did an impressive imitation of innocence, his eyes wide and seemingly guileless.  Tom began to hate him.  Chris stood up and spoke in Russian again, “ _I would like to negotiate in private and would rather not move the papers more than necessary.  You have nothing to fear from me, Foma.  I’m sure you took precautions before coming here and I’d rather not have MI5 take a closer look at this hotel._ ”

 

  
If it wasn’t so hard to read Chris, Tom would feel better about the whole thing. The man appeared sincere and perfectly benign in his intentions, but Tom’s instincts recoiled at his offer.  The potential importance of those documents could not be denied, though.  Nor could that normally repressed part of Tom’s brain that wanted nothing more than to be alone in a room with Chris and a bed.  He gulped down the remainder of his scotch for a little liquid courage and took a deep breath before standing.  “Lead the way, Chris.  _I’m not afraid of you._ ”

 

  
Chris beamed at him as though Tom were a child refusing to give up after a particularly bad fall from a bike, “Good boy.”

 

  
Tom clung to his bravado and ignored Chris’s condescension.  Chris for his part sensed Tom’s fragile confidence and refrained from touching him as they made their way to the lift.  Neither of their veneers, Tom’s detachment nor Chris’s solicitous geniality, would remain in place much longer.

 

  
****

 

  
An hour later Tom was brimming with excitement and several vodka tonics; Chris had given him both a pile of documents and an endless supply of alcohol to peruse them with, although the lime had run out at some point.  Tom shuffled the last paper Chris had offered into place and smiled openly for the first time at him.  “This is extraordinary!  I’m no forensic accountant, but what we have here should be more than enough to spark our Polish counterparts into investigating Piotr’s business, especially that chicken plant near Warsaw.”

 

  
Chris smiled back at his enthusiasm, “I’d imagine MI5 or MI6 will ask for a spot on that investigation in return for such information?”

 

  
Tom snorted, “Of course they will, and deservedly so!”  He stretched his arms over his head and then took another sip from his third or was that fourth drink?  Tom honestly didn’t care.  This information was a goldmine that would get him a permanent assignment to either Ben’s group or Scarlett’s.  The question now was which one did he want to present it to?

 

  
“These papers are that good, then?”  Chris pushed off from the wall he was leaning against and sprawled into a chair next to Tom.

 

  
“Oh, yes!  Very good.”  Tom nodded happily, both anticipation and vodka pleasantly burning their way through his veins.

 

  
“What would you say they are worth?” Chris’s voice deepened and his eyes narrowed.

 

  
Tom’s lovely buzz dampened at his words.  “Well, um, that really isn’t for me to say is it?  I’ll have to speak with-"

 

  
“No.” Chris interrupted.  “I am not dealing with Ben or anyone else.  Just you.”

 

  
Tom panicked a little, “But I already told you, I’m not auth-"

 

  
“And I told you I was aware of that.  I want to hear what you can offer me, Tom.  What can you give me?”

 

  
It took longer than Tom liked to admit for him to be able to reply; all those vodka tonics warred with a sober shot of fear-induced adrenaline and left him muzzier than he wanted.  He mentally flailed for a moment before stuttering out, “I-I-I don’t know.  I’m not...I mean you have more money than I do!”  He flopped a hand towards Chris’s suit and then whirled it about to indicate the luxury of the suite they were in.

 

  
“You’re right, I do.”  Chris agreed amiably.  He reached out and flicked at Tom’s skinny vinyl tie, “It’s fairly obvious you don’t have money.  You didn’t exactly blend in down there.”  He wrapped the strip of material around his fist and reeled Tom in closer.  He shook off Tom’s fumbling hands which had shot forward to grab onto him for support, and yanked the tie down so his head followed.  Tom gasped and dropped his hands to his knees.  

 

  
Chris’s breath against his ear sank beneath his skin into his bones like the bricked heat from a stoked fireplace, rolling in a wave down his cheek and neck.  “In fact, you know what you looked like to me, to everyone in that room?  Like a whore I hired for the night.  A rent boy.  That’s the real reason the staff wouldn’t serve you.  Whores aren’t allowed to order for themselves.”  Chris licked the rim of his ear and Tom whimpered, earning him a nip along the ridge of his jaw.  “And now that I’ve shown you the money, I’d like to get what I paid for.”

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [handfulofpoppies](http://handfulofpoppies.tumblr.com), [perkybottoms](http://perkybottoms.tumblr.com), [your-friendlyneighborhoodanon](http://your-friendlyneighborhoodanon.tumblr.com), and [umakoo](http://umakoo.tumblr.com) for their fantastic feedback and endless support.
> 
> Also, please forgive any errors I have made in regards to the Russian language or the workings of MI5 and the Russian mafia.
> 
> This can also be found on my [tumblr](http://tmblr.co/ZoucSuXrWxl3).


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